The Damned
by Diviniti
Summary: Harry wasn’t saved from the AK by Lily’s love; he defeated Voldemort himself, tearing the Dark Lord’s power from his body and absorbing it. Harry loses everything until he’s a child in Azkaban, with nothing expect the will to survive for his revenge. Dark
1. Chapter 1: It Began On Hallow's End

The Damned

Summary: Harry wasn't saved from the AK by Lily's love; he defeated Voldemort himself, tearing the Dark Lord's power from his body and absorbing it. Harry loses everything until he's a child in Azkaban, with nothing expect the will to survive and a determination to have his revenge. Dark, Independent Harry, H/OFC, ManipulativeDD

There are elements of Wrong Boy Who Lived, but it very minimal. You will see why this isn't a normal neglected Harry story.

This is a mature rated story, so don't read if you don't like blood, violence, swearing, or dark arts.

This fic is about the scarring effects of a prison like Azkaban, Harry's battle for freedom in a world where the powerful control the weak, and Harry finding out what ambition, power, life, and death mean to him. This story is not shippy at all and romance isn't a huge part. That being said, there will be relationships and Harry is paired with an OFC.

Harry does have the potential to be very powerful in this story, but he is by no means a super!Harry.

One quick note: to those who will undoubtedly question the need for me to begin a new story while I am already working on two, I agree with you. Unfortunately as I write this story I grow to like it more and more, so I'm afraid I will be working on this along with the others simultaneously.

Read and review, folks.

Chapter One: It Began on Hallow's End…

A harsh, cold, utterly merciless cackling noise echoed through the cosy house, just as the door blew clean off its hinges, and crashed to the floor with a loud boom.

"Lily! Take them – Johnny and Harry – take them and run… IT"S HIM! GO!" James shouted, frantic desperation etched on his face.

Lily stood in shock for a few seconds, unable to breathe, her hands absently holding both babies close to her. "James! I can't leave you!"

"Save them! You must, Lily, you three must live on!" James replied, looking at those green eyes, knowing it would be the last time. "I'll hold him off. Save yourselves…"

Lily nodded, tearing leaking out of her eyes as she sobbed an 'I love you' and ran to the nursery.

"STOP RIGHT THERE!" James shouted, his wand pointed at Voldemort's heart.

"It will all be over soon, James. There are two ways we can do this…"

The cold voice, devoid of any humanity, hit James's ears, forcing his hand to tremble. He blasted a powerful Striking Curse at Voldemort's chest, and continued to wave his wand frantically, casting the most powerful spells he knew, hoping desperately to finish the bastard off quickly.

Voldemort allowed James to proceed with his offensive, cackling derisively the whole while. As soon as James ran out of steam, Voldemort slashed his wand sharply, moving James's torso like a ragdoll, smashing him into the wall. Voldemort glanced at James's fallen form. "Dead. What a pity."

Voldemort moved on, menacingly encroaching on the nursery.

"Ahh, here we are. Two beautiful babies. Luckily, my dear Lily, I only need one, the one the prophecy fortold. Kindly move aside, I will leave you Harry."

"No! You monster! They're both normal babies…"

"Silence! You think I didn't know the full prophecy! I have spies everywhere, you fool, I know that Dumbledore believes John to be the one to defeat me. MOVE ASIDE!"

"N…No," Lily sobbed.

Voldemort rolled his eyes, and forcibly moved her and pinned her to the wall with a flick of his wand. "Which one is John! Answer me!"

After a moment, Lily raised her hand weakly, pointing at the baby with her green eyes.

"I think you are lying… no… I feel it, this one feels… different," Voldemort muttered, looking at Harry. He looked just like John, but with green eyes, eyes that may look like Lily's from afar, but were different. They had a dark gleam to them; a passion and an anger. "What kind of mother are you? Willing to give up a son…" Voldemort laughed cruelly and sent a stunner at her form. "Well Johnny, say goodbye…"

The green light blasted at Harry's forehead, but instead of extinguishing the life within Harry's body, Harry was surrounded by the green, crackling energy. He raised a finger to Voldemort sending the ray of death towards its caster.

"How-" Voldemort couldn't speak as his wand was connected to Harry's finger by a ray of dark energy. Voldemort poured himself into the spell, bending it towards the infant, and lashes of bright energy snakes around the room. All Harry knew was that there was two options, to give it and die, or to hold on, to hold on to life and fight with all of his power. There was an explosion in between the two, and when the light dimmed, Harry was covered in blood, emerald lightning cackling dangerously along his dark form. Voldemort was nowhere to be found. Harry looked over at John, giving his brother one last smile before he passed out, overwhelmed by the power he had absorbed.

Dumbledore arrived at the house promptly, first noticing that James was indeed alive, with a concussion. He wasn't the world's greatest wizard for nothing; a minute of flashy spellwork and James was up, disoriented, but alive.

"LILY!" James shouted, his senses regained.

"Yes, let us go. We must make sure John is alright!" Dumbledore said.

James led the way to the nursery, crying in happiness as he revived Lily.

Dumbledore ignored the two and strode towards the two babies. Harry was unconscious in a pool of blood, but John… John was standing up, a large X on his forehead. Dumbledore cradled him, making an assumption based on the prophecy he has heard. "Lily, James, come, come here now. It's John… he fulfilled the prophecy. He defeated Voldemort… he LIVED! Voldemort stunned Harry there, but he found a true adversary in John!"

Harry woke and lay there, crying, until his parents finally finished gawking at John and decided to clean the blood off his face. "Oh look, Lily, Harry has a lightning shaped scar."

"Oh, yeah. Should we tell Dumbledore?"

"Nah, it's not important. Dumbledore said John's scar was important, he didn't say anything about Harry's. Harry's is a bit smaller… and John is the one that killed him."

"Well, I think Dumbledore missed Harry's scar, it was obscured by the blood…"

"Ow!" James shook his head, he could have sworn he felt an angry shock coming off Harry's body. "Well, let's go – we should be able to get back to Potter Manor, we'll need to make sure John is safe from Death Eaters. He'll have to be protected at all costs, Lils."

"I know, I know. Oh… I can't believe we're all okay and a happy family… I thought for sure…"

"Shh, Lils. The future is bright. We're all here, alive and well."

The near future was indeed bright for the Wizarding World. Little did they know that their road to ruin had begun that night.


	2. Chapter 2: Careful What You Wish For

Chapter Two: Careful What You Wish For

"Go away," Harry said coldly.

"It's not fair! Show me or I'll tell Mum, and we know who she'd believe!" the five year old John yelled petulantly, waving around his miniature training wand. "Show. Me. How. You. Did. It."

Harry was furious now, furious at how John had received a training wand because he needed to be 'ahead of his age', furious at how his parents believed everything John said. "You're not good enough at magic to do what I did, even with your special baby wand. Now go away."

"No. Tell me," John whined obstinately. "MUM… MUUUM!"

Lily rushed up the stairs to her son's call. "Yes hun?"

"Harry did magic. I walked in and he's been making my toys move around!" John accused.

"Harry! You know you're not supposed to do magic as a child!"

"What, no congratulations?" Harry muttered.

"Don't you speak back to me! You're just trying to show up Johnny, you should be ashamed of yourself," Lily scolded, her face harsh, resembling a horse. Then it relaxed into the beautiful face that John had always known as she squeezed his cheek and promised to teach him more.

"I was just playing… it's not my fault the great Johnny-boy isn't living up to expectations, don't take it out on me."

Slap. Harry, instead of crying, just sat still and boiled inside. It was damn true he thought; he was loads better than John.

Lily lovingly led John away, talking to him about new cool spells that they would learn away from Harry, while Harry's anger turned to sadness. Why did they hate him? Why was it always John, John, John? Sometimes he wished they were dead; anything was better than constantly being put down, so John would feel pampered and loved.

Why did John always have extravagant birthday parties and receive broomsticks? Why did no one ever listen to what Harry had to say? Why wasn't he loved?

"Oh well, at least I'm not a squib," Harry spat. He summoned up a globe of fire in his hand and tossed it back and forth between hands. "One day they'll realize the mistake they've made. I may not be the Boy-Who-Lived, but I will be stronger. One day I'll leave here, they won't even notice. I'll be great one day… I'll be a king."

It had continued to get worse, as Harry, at the age of five, began to grow a little taller than John. He ate less, but he was a bit stronger than John. It was no secret; Harry was incredibly bitter that his parents ignored him, but John was also jealous of Harry. Harry was the one performing feats of magic, not John. Harry was blessed and cursed; blessed by his power and ambition, but cursed by fate. He never understood how John had received the credit for the great deed… in fact, Harry had a vague memory of fighting a shrouded figure. He vaguely remembered the energy being sucked out of the shrouded figure and cascading around his infant body. Everyone in the household knew that Harry was the powerful one, but why didn't they accept that instead of trying to beat down his spirit with criticism and neglect? John was a lost cause, but they just couldn't see his mediocrity.

So James and Lily kept Harry secluded in his floor, and spent more and more time with John, so John wouldn't be troubled by Harry's almost freakish ways.

Then one day, James and Lily ran into one of Harry's prayers.

Lucius Malfoy, being the prominent citizen that he was, had no trouble getting Walden Macnair appointed Warden of Azkaban. It was simply a matter of arranging a private meeting with the foolish Minister, casting an Imperio, and concluding the business with an Obliviate.

Macnair had no trouble freeing Bellatrix and her crew of jailed Death Eaters. It was simply a matter of convincing the Dementors to leave their posts for a few moments, and that was accomplished by enticing them with an entourage of very kissable Muggles that Macnair had scrounged up.

Lucius, Macnair, Bellatrix, and a few other Death Eaters, including Crouch Jr. and Nott, wanted revenge on John Potter. Lucius wanted the Potters out of the picture so he could push his agenda in the Wizengamot and Bellatrix wanted John dead because she was a crazed murderer who wanted to avenge her fallen lord. Macnair wanted to pillage Potter Manor for valuables and Crounch Jr. was fanatical about letting the world know that Death Eaters would forever strike fear into the world. Peter Pettigrew was there as well, although the wizarding world thought him to be dead. He was the key to the whole operation. He had gone to Azkaban for betraying the Potters to Voldemort and he had 'died'. That was the only way to get out of Azkaban. Of course, Peter had simply turned into a rat and waltzed out, but Fudge was not inclined to tell that story to the press, so he simply said that Peter had died, as many Azkaban prisoners often did.

The Potters, in their infinite wisdom, believed the reports that Peter had died. James and Sirius knew that esteemed captains of military forces such as the Aurors were never told lies and misled by their country's leaders, so they were sure that Peter was dead. They didn't think to remove Peter's name from the list of people who could access Potter Manor, because Peter was a dead rat. Mad-Eye himself had stated that Peter was at the bottom of the sea, where dead prisoners decomposed, and James had absolute faith in the intelligence of the Auror department.

Potter Manor was incredibly well protected; if you weren't on that selective list, you couldn't enter. Peter entered Potter Manor on a fresh spring morning through the Floo and got soot on the Potter's beautiful, hearty Gryffindor carpets. From inside the Manor, Peter was able to disable the Manor's defenses, and Lucius, Bellatrix, Nott, and Crouch Jr. had no trouble waltzing in through the fire after Peter signaled them.

It was a normal day, James was bonding with John outside, taking him up on a broomstick. Lily was cooking dinner. Harry was in his room, reading books.

They entered the kitchen and Lily died, just like that. An AK's to the back. She had thought it was her boys, coming in to eat dinner. Her last thought was that she always thought that she would have a more epic and noteworthy death, where she died defending her son and the hope of the Wizarding World.

"Damnit, Crouch, we could have had fun with her," Lucius spat. "I thought I told you that we would take her prisoner and kill the others."

"I had to take her out quickly; she was the only one here who posed a threat. She was good at Charms."

"Outside," Nott hissed, pointing to James and John.

"We don't have time to torture," Crouch Jr. continued. "A shame, but Dumbledore will be here soon, he monitors this place. In and out."

"Fine," Lucius conceded.

They walked out side and overpowered James. It wasn't too difficult, he was too busy shielding his son to put up a fight.

"Ahh, the hero, John Potter. I can't imagine how you vanquished the Dark Lord…"

"DADDY!!"

"Avada Kedavra," Bellatrix said brutally. "Well, that was rather pathetic. I was expecting more. A fight at least…"

"Yes, that was rather anticlimactic," Lucius said thoughtfully.

"He," Peter pointed to John's corpse. "Killed the Dark Lord? Maybe this one was Harry, and John is somewhere else."

"Everyone, split up and search for John," Lucius ordered.

They raided Potter Manor, blasting through furniture and walls, destroying the property in their search for the Boy-Who-Lived.

Macnair got to him first.

"Go away," Harry said, putting down his book.

Macnair looked at Harry, evil glee in his eyes, knowing that he was about to have the honor of killing the last Potter. "Avada…"

"GO AWAY!" Harry raged, summoning up all of his power.

Green electricity crackled around Harry's small torso. He reached out towards Macnair, and pushed his burning power through his arm. Macnair screamed as tendrils of angry energy burned his skin. Harry fell unconscious as Macnair fell to the ground, a charred husk of a man.

Pop. Pop. Pop.

Order members arrived in the house, quickly outnumbering the Death Eaters, who were forced to flee. Dumbledore lingered at James and John's bodies, but he had nothing to say. How could this have happened?

Then he walked upstairs and entered a room full of blackened walls. He accidentally stepped on a burnt carcass. Then he saw Harry, lying on the floor unconscious, a look of pure hatred plastered onto his face.

Dumbledore made another decision; he had lost one Boy Who Lived, but he could make another. Luckily for Albus, heroes were only commodities, and Harry could be salvaged. Harry would hate Voldemort for killing his parents, and if he put Harry in a less than satisfactory home, then he could have the privilege of rescuing Harry from said home, so Harry would look up to him. It was clear now that Harry had been blessed with the power than John should have had, and Dumbledore wanted to now put Harry in a place where he could monitor everything. Dumbledore knew the perfect place.

Harry regained consciousness and stared into the piercing blue eyes of the Hogwarts Headmaster, a man who Harry placed into the category of people who came to see John but not Harry.

"I'm cold," Harry said. It was a cool London morning and Harry was in an unfamiliar neighborhood. "Where are we? Where's my family," Harry asked promptly.

"I am afraid that the Dark Lord, named Voldemort, managed to have them killed."

"Oh," Harry said. "We'll I'll stay in the house, the elves can sustain me."

That wasn't the reaction Dumbledore was looking for. "They wanted you to live here, with your loving Aunt and Uncle. I am afraid I must go now."

"I don't care for what-" Harry felt something well up inside of him. For some reason, he felt that he really trusted Dumbledore. It was weird; Harry had never really trusted anyone before.

Dumbledore Apparated inside of Privet Drive and cast a few spells to ensure the Dursley's accepted him into their home, and raised him to be less of a argumentative, strong-willed brat. Dumbledore was to content to have the Dursleys sculpt the boy and present him with his tool in five or so years.

"Get in here, boy. Scruffy orphan… You listen here! We may have to keep you, but damnit your days of being treated like royalty are over," a fat man bellowed, grabbing Harry by the collar and dragging him inside. Harry tried to shock him, he tried to summon up some sort of magic, but he couldn't. It was as if he was blocked off from his magic, like the hose had been pinched shut. He really started to freak out now.

"You'll be living in here," Vernon said, throwing him into the closet and slamming the door on Harry's foot.

Harry forced himself not to cry. Soon he would regain his magical powers; it must be just an aftereffect of his fight with that robed guy. Then he'd fry that fat guy and leave.

It was something Dumbledore did, Harry knew. Harry forced himself to think clearly, and managed to stop himself from feeling an overwhelming trust for Dumbledore. Unfortunately, after doing so, he tried to do magic, but failed miserably. Harry cried, he broke down completely; he was a wretched, miserable, powerless orphan now. "No! No… I'm going to get my power back. I'm going to… I know it. I can't lose… I'm going to be great one day."

"FREAK!!"

"Go away," Harry spat. "Leave me be."

Vernon spat in Harry's face. "Boy, Petunia and Dudders need dinner. Get to it now," he roared. He grabbed Harry by the hair and wrenched him up to his feet, ignoring Harry's piercing scream. "NOW! YOU WILL OBEY!"

Harry's rage towards his parents and John was nothing compared to the overwhelming sense of helplessness he felt now, stuck in hell. His hope that he would one day regain his magic was all that kept him alive. He wouldn't let them break him; he couldn't.

**-TWO DURSLEY ABUSE-FILLED YEARS LATER-**

Harry tightly wrapped his finger in his baggy t-shirt, applying pressure, hoping to stop the bleeding.

"Boy, trim the roses and be quick about it!" his aunt yelled, from the cool inside of the house.

Harry nodded and got back to work. He didn't understand why he was supposed to trim the rose bushes… he thought it looked better when it was wild, not organized and perfect, in a cold sort of way, just like the rest of the garden. Of course, he had quickly learned that voicing his thoughts was a sure way to receive some form of punishment, ranging from a stare or a extra job, to a cold slap or shove. One day he would repay it all, one day… but for now, all he could do was survive, which was in itself a task that demanded all of his effort.

The sun beat down on his pale skin, tingling unpleasantly. He noticed Petunia returning to the window, where she would crane her neck to inspect his progress, and always give that sneer or disapproving sniff. Harry continued to clip and the rose bushes, carefully snipping off every stem, thorn, and flower than was outside of the neat square that his aunt desired. He was very careful, but feeling the sting of a thorn was inevitable. Soon his hands were covered in a blood, but he didn't risk sticking his hands inside of his pockets and appearing to not work. He got the clippers dirty, but hopefully he would get a chance to clean it off before his aunt inspected it.

As he severed a flower that was just a bit out of the perimeter, he heard a rustle in the bushes. Looking inside, he could see a hole, and a tawny orange-brown head sticking out of that hole. The creature slowly slunk out of its hole, sniffing through its nose. Harry guessed it was some sort of chipmunk. A pity. His aunt would see the hole when she inspected the bushes, and get her poisonous tablets… there was no room for animals in her garden. Harry sighed, getting back to work. He didn't want to reach into the middle of the bush to grab the chipmunk and relocate it; that would leave thorns all over his arms, and he didn't have the luxury of antiseptic and band-aids.

The creature left its hole further. Harry noticed that it didn't move like a squirrel or chipmunk. It was more graceful, slinking close to the ground and avoiding thorns. It's tawny brown color continued down its back, and Harry noticed it had a slightly bushy tail, with a black tip. It's underbelly was a lighter brown, and it's eyes were large and black. Harry guessed it was some sort of weasel. He hoped it wasn't attracted to his blood… It was large for a weasel… Harry had learned about the species and if he had to make a guess, he would say it was a pole-cat.

Harry let it move closer and sniff him. Harry moved out to brush it's sleek coat of fur, a thin layer through which Harry could feel sinewy muscles.

"Oh no! She's coming, go… go hide!" Harry prodded the weasel, and seeing Petunia coming, he sighed and shoved his arm deep into the bushes, covering the hole with dirt.

"Boy, have you no control over your own muscles? You've got at leave four thorns in your arm… you are not to drip any in our house, understand? Find a way to stop the bleeding, then you can come in. And for god's sakes, I need the bushes in a square!"

Harry exhaled as she left. He quickly began to chop up the sides of the rosebush until it looked nice and tidy. The heat was really getting too much. Rays of sunlight beat down upon his tender skin, and he wished he had a hole like the pole-cat to hide in. Somewhere cool… somewhere away from people.

The pole-cat crawled out again, eyeing Harry.

"Hi…" Harry said. He slowly reached out, praying he wouldn't be bitten, but too curious to care. Anyway, one more bruise wouldn't make a difference. He had felt the cruel bite of fists, hard objects, and belts upon his skin.

The pole-cat frowned at Harry, not angry, but curiously. It gently licked at Harry's finger, and allowed Harry to pet him. Once again, Harry marveled at how muscular and fierce the 16 inch pole-cat looked.

Harry heard his aunt's shrill voice. "Okay, I'll see you tomorrow… stay here, okay? Stay safe. D-don't leave."

Harry went inside and hobbled to his cupboard. He gently pulled the thorns out of his arm, and licked at his forearms, hoping the small pricks would stop dripping. The cool air felt heavenly after he was nearly at the point of fainting in the heat. He groaned as he heard a car pulling up in the driveway. Uncle Vernon had returned from a long day at work.

"Petunia, Dudley…" Vernon greeted, promptly plopping down on the couch and putting on the telly. "FREAK!"

Harry groaned, still recovering from the hard work in the hot sun. He really needed time to sit down… What choice was there? He appeared quickly, taking Vernon's shoes as his aunt gave him a cup of tea. Harry didn't like tea too much, but how he longed for a cool drink… like that lemonade Dudley was sipping greedily.

"So, Petunia, has our Dudders gotten a chance to ride his new bicycle?" Vernon asked, thumping Dudley across the back.

"Has the brat been givin' you a hard time?" Vernon asked Petunia.

"Not any more than usual."

"Well, I told you what to do when he does: give him the belt. Brat, you look at me when I'm talking to you!" Vernon roared.

"Yes Uncle?" Harry said, his heart sinking. What had he done this time?

"Get out of our sight until it's time to clean up dinner."

Harry nodded, and went back to his cupboard. He hated his relatives. There was simply no other way to put it, no fancy words that could describe how he felt. His greatest desire was to regain his power and get revenge. His second greatest desire was to be rescued from this pitiful existence any way possible… and Harry meant any way possible. He wanted a numbness; he needed a numbness that life refused to give him. He wished he could not feel the pain, both on his body and mind. If life wouldn't give him that numbness, then perhaps death would.

He worked in the garden for the next few weeks, careful not to let Petunia on to the fact that he actually enjoyed it. Bane, the pole-cat, had taken to following him around, and Harry enjoyed the company. It was nice to have eyes looking at you, not with derision, but with camaraderie. Harry wished he could speak to his new friend, but he knew that wasn't possible. Still, he couldn't help but think that Bane could understand him on some level. It made his summer days bearable.

Today he was grubbing in the dirt, planting neat rows of flowers. Bane was next to him, sniffing and inspecting Harry's work. Harry's stomach gave a rumble, and the pole-cat looked at him questioningly. Harry sighed; he hadn't gotten a scrap of breakfast today.

"Back to work, Bane, no use worrying about it," Harry said.

Bane nipped at Harry's hand, and then shot off, burrowing under Petunia's fence and going into the neighbor's yard. "You're a crazy one, Bane…" Harry said.

He wasn't sure why, but he liked talking to Bane. Perhaps it was because the animal was the only thing in the world that liked to hear the sound of his voice. After he planted a few more flowers, Bane returned, holding a carrot in his mouth.

"Bane! You can't do that, I'll get in trouble if the neighbors think someone has been stealing their plants." Despite saying that, Harry took the root gratefully, and quickly turned on the hose, washing it down before quickly crunching up the sweet vegetable. He wasn't concerned with hygiene.

As the days passed, Harry grew closer and closer to the pole-cat. He knew it was a bit weird to talk to an animal that couldn't answer back, but who else did he have to talk to? Bane may seem like a rodent to any onlookers, but to Harry, he symbolized a way of life that was very appealing. Bane lived alone with his own territory… he was a predator, not prey. He hunted, ate, and slept away from prying eyes. Bane didn't have to worry about other members of his own species chasing him and beating him. His eyes were black orbs, in which Harry could see no pain, only natural beauty.

Harry looked around the garden. As the days passed, it grew cleaner and somehow, less welcoming and natural. As flowers thrived in their perfect cubicles, the wildlife died, leaving the area cold and sterile. Harry couldn't explain it; he simply knew that without Bane, the garden would be a graveyard, despite the flowers. Bane was untamed and wild, just like the garden once was. Just like Harry wished he could be. It had to do with freedom, Harry realized. Bane was free, but Harry… Harry wouldn't be free until the Dursley's lay dead. He wouldn't be free until he had his magic back. He wouldn't be free until Dumbledore was dead as a doornail.

As the afternoon turned to dusk, Harry heard a car pulling into the driveway. He quickly put Bane back in his hole and ran inside, quickly making a pot of tea, hoping Vernon had got his stupid promotion, so he wouldn't feel the need to take out any frustration with his belt.

Petunia's garden was looking very tidy and prim, but Harry made excuses to stay outside, such as saying her plants needed more watering. He was eternally grateful that Vernon worked in the summer… doing his chores was bad enough, but doing them with the threat of a lash or fist was horrible. His uncle would work him to death and them slam him in his closet, whereas Petunia would often give him a little free time here and there, and usually there was no physical punishment. He was no stranger to verbal derision, though. He had grown so used to it that his mind could just block it out. The hurt of being called a spoiled, disgusting freak could never be eliminated, but he had gotten so used to it, that the words just swirled around his head instead of entering his mind. He wanted immunity, but this was the next best alternative.

This summer was actually the best summer he could remember. Dudley would stay inside, playing video games and fattening himself up with sugary foods, and Petunia would give him tasks that he could do with his new friend. Vernon was doing well in his work, and therefore didn't have too much anger to take out on Harry. Aunt Marge was taking a well-deserved vacation in Spain, and Harry did not have to worry about being consumed by her crazy dogs.

Petunia couldn't deny that she had one of the best looking gardens in the neighborhood, and that resulted in Harry being given the 'stay out of the way, and make sure you make breakfast, lunch, and tea for us'.

Of course, good times could not last. September was fast approaching, and September meant school. How he hated school!

Actually, this time he had a plan. He was looking forward to school. He had heard that nurses were obligated to ask how a child was hurt, and if they suspected the child was being abused, they could contact the police. That should do the trick.

A six year old Harry went to the school nurse, covered in bruises, with one prominent slash across his face, bleeding viciously.

"What the devil happened to you?" The old nurse asked. She had a hawk-like face, and in her eyes, Harry could find no empathy. She was a bitter woman, who was here in this school because she had nowhere else to go.

"Dudley… my cousin and his friends threw rocks at me."

"Dudley Dursley?"

"Yes, that's him. He always-"

"Boy, I know the Dursleys quite well. A respectable family. You cannot expect me to believe that tale…"

"IT'S THE TRUTH!" Harry yelled desperately.

"Don't you take that tone with me liar! Take this bandage and get out!"

"BOY! MRS. WHITE CALLED AND SAID YOU WENT TO HER WITH YOUR LIES!" Vernon roared, ripping open his closet door. Harry recoiled in fear, crouching into the fetal position. "IF I HERE THAT YOU EVER…" Kick.

"Please, Uncle, I was bleeding… I needed a band-"

"GO TO…" Vernon picked him up by his hair.

"OWWW!" Harry howled in pain.

"THE NURSE AGAIN, I WILL KILL YOU," Vernon screamed, heaving back in rage and slapping Harry hard, causing him to fly to the side and crash into the wall painfully.

"Actually… why not? That old fool wouldn't know… why should I spend my hard earned money on food for the little animal?" Vernon pondered. "Can't take a chance, what if he tells someone else? Best thing to do would be to put an end to this freaskish nonsense and we can live like we did before… yes…"

Vernon slammed the door shut on Harry, but Harry knew that he would be back, and most likely with his shotgun. Vernon had forgot to lock the door, so Harry broke out and ran outside to his one sanctuary. It was the shed with Bane.

Fear… anger… hate… desperation… it all melt into one overwhelming emotion. Darkness. Vernon slammed on the door, cracking the feeble lock of the wooden shed.

Vernon advanced on Harry, delirious rage splayed across his bloated face. He had dreamed about doing this for two years.

"Bane, I'm going to die now. No… NO!"

Bane, in a moment of beautiful courage that Harry would never forget, soared from Harry's hands, and clung onto Vernon's puffing, red face. Bane tore and shred, and Harry could see blood. It was beautiful; Harry felt his spirit soar as he convinced himself that Bane would kill the bastard. Then a new emotion was added to Harry's overwhelming amalgam of feelings; dread. Vernon, bleeding vigorously, one of his eyes a great, red slash, grabbed the valiant Bane with two meaty hands. With one swift motion and a furious cry, Vernon cracked the pole-cat's neck, and threw the bloody mess to the floor where it twitched in its death throes. "BANE!"

Vernon brought the shotgun up to Harry's face. "You're dead, freak."

"NO!!" Harry screamed, and something happened. He felt pure hatred fuel his will to survive and he welled up all of his feeling in his languishing heart, and released it all in one blast. It was too much; he had finally overwhelmed Dumbledore's magic blocks. "DIE!" Harry screamed, pouring all of his dreams of revenge and freedom into an energy that he hadn't felt for over two years. It was beautiful when Vernon Dursley died; Harry couldn't describe the way he felt as he realized that he had his power once again. The maelstrom of pent-up energy sliced the air, slowly decimating Vernon.

Harry looked at Bane. "I'll never forget you Bane… my friend."

Harry noticed that he was nearly incapacitated by Vernon's earlier beatings, but he had a bit of energy left. He used the mysterious power that he had to heal himself and walk towards the house. Petunia was screaming and running towards him. Harry was nearly out of energy, but Vernon's shotgun was nearby. Harry grabbed it and by the time he had it aimed, Petunia was nearly upon him. He squeezed the trigger and watched in morbid fascination as a twelve inch hole appeared in her chest. He fell backwards due to Newton's First Law, but he quickly regained his footing. He looked at Dudley, wondering if he should kill him or not.

"Dudders. Leave me alone. I'll give you one chance. Go away."

This time, Dudley obeyed.

As Harry walked into the house, a thought struck him. Dumbledore must be on his way; Dumbledore had always watched Potter Manor, and he was sure to have been monitoring magic performed in Privet Drive. He had to get out.

Harry heard a distinct pop in the distance. He started to run as fast as he could, like he had never done before. He ran and ran until he felt his exhaustion overcome his muscles and he collapsed.

"Harry, what have you done?" a voice said. "Murderer… what type of human are you?"

Harry screamed, suspend the exhaustion that Dumbledore seemed to be inflicting on him. A torrent of green light shot forth and Harry desperately prayed that the face that Harry hated above all others would be slashed, burned, and emptied by his attack.

"You're an evil child, Harry. Is there no good in your soul? You're damned."

Those were the last words Harry heard as he slipped into the realm of darkness. Harry screamed in his mind, but this time, he had lost for good.

A/N:** I didn't want to make all of you relive five chapters of neglect and abuse, so I compacted it. Choppy, yes, but now we can get to the original parts…**

**Thanks for reading and reviewing.**


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